


In which Tarvek has been shirking

by Overlord_Bethany



Series: Always Send Knives [6]
Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, Paris hijinks, Pre-Canon, please do not get too attached to Fyodor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 00:41:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15718380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overlord_Bethany/pseuds/Overlord_Bethany
Summary: ...and also too obvious.





	In which Tarvek has been shirking

Tarvek lay on his side, his jaw propped in his cupped palm, his fingertips drumming on his cheek. He thumbed through his course texts without reading a single word. His thoughts ranged far away, to Gil’s misguided but enthusiastic heroics. No one needed to charge through exploding spiders. No one should kick tables over with such practiced ease. There was simply no excuse for that man.

He knew he should occupy his thoughts with absolutely anything other than Gil. Gil presented the world’s worst distraction. A single moment with him could burn in Tarvek’s brain for hours, slowly souring from fascination to frustration. He should let it go. He should let _Gil_ go. It was pretty obvious that he would never want Tarvek. Even if he did, his apparent hordes of admirers would do their best to distract him.

The admirers looked to be winning.

Suppressing a sigh, Tarvek turned another page. The diagram he saw startled him, and he turned back to the previous page to see if the text explained why anyone would do that to a hippo. Near the window, Fyodor made that faint shuffling that indicated that he had an opinion, and Tarvek could ignore it or invite him to speak, whichever he preferred. Tarvek looked up from the book, which seemed to do a splendid job of not explaining the hippo.

“Yes, Fyodor?”

The Smoke Knight gave him an arch look. “You’re in love.”

“Cut your tongue off and throw it in the Seine.” Confident that Fyodor would ignore such a statement, Tarvek returned his attention to his book.

The words on the page jumbled up into nonsense, and he could find nothing at all to explain the hippo. He closed his eyes, and he tried not to feel the crushing weight of Fyodor’s amusement. At that, also, he failed.

“What makes you say so?” He demanded at last, irritation in every syllable. The slap of papers on his open book startled him, and he blinked in confusion at the assortment of envelopes.

“You haven’t opened your invitations.” Fyodor stepped back again. “The one from your grandmother is for tomorrow.”

Oh, no.

Tarvek tore at the envelopes until he found the right one. His hands trembled as he withdrew the embossed invitation, and then his breath rushed out of him in relief. Late luncheon, informal. Of course he had to dress to impress, but it hardly required elaborate effort. Tarvek threw himself back on his bed and flung an arm across his eyes.

“You might have mentioned sooner,” he grumbled. No way would Fyodor have mentioned sooner.

“I’ve taken the liberty of procuring the full guest list.”

“You’re forgiven.” Tarvek sat up and held out an expectant hand. With just a shadow of a smirk, Fyodor presented a single page, closely written and encrypted. Tarvek’s gaze skimmed the names, some of which he expected, and some that surprised him. His lips twisted in a wry smile. “I guess I can’t ask Colette to accompany me.”

But at least he would have someone to talk to.

“Why don’t you bring your—”

“Don’t even think it,” Tarvek interrupted. Ignoring all social implications, he knew that putting Gil in the same room with a half dozen members of his extended family could only lead to wreck and ruin.

“At least let me arrange an assignation—”

“Never.”

“Why not?” Fyodor pressed, and Tarvek scowled.

“Because your idea of romance includes kidnapping. Now go patrol the rooftops or something. I need to plan what I’m going to wear.”

With a soft chuckle, Fyodor climbed out the window.

Tarvek eyed his wardrobe from across the room. _Country boy_ , Tiffy had called him. Should he play on that? No, no, such a ruse would irritate him in under five minutes. He would need a better plan.

Well. At least he had something other than Gil to occupy his thoughts.


End file.
